


Painting

by mapleandmahogany



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-12
Updated: 2007-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-27 17:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10813239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mapleandmahogany/pseuds/mapleandmahogany
Summary: Painting Ginny is something Dean always wanted to try.





	Painting

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: My thanks to the handy [](http://gwen1170.livejournal.com/profile)[**gwen1170**](http://gwen1170.livejournal.com/) for the beta work.

  


* * *

~^~

“If you want to see the finished result, you can stop over tonight,” Dean Thomas had said, handing her a card with a Floo address on it.

Ginny’s life as her father’s personal secretary entailed dull duties and endless afternoons of tedious office work, but today had _not_ been one of those.

Dean had recently promoted from his apprenticeship, now a master artist, he had been commissioned to paint her dad’s official Ministry portraits.

She had watched the boy she once kissed at school, now very much a _man_ , bite the tip of his tongue in concentration. Throughout the day of painting, he gave up on professional etiquette and cast aside his buttoned up smock and loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, revealing nicely muscled forearms. _Muscled forearms_ , and he wasn’t even a Quidditch player.

Later that evening, she stepped out of the green flames into a very cold, industrial looking room with chrome chairs and neatly framed portraits on the walls.

Faint music was the only indication the place wasn’t deserted, so she followed it into an enormous warehouse. Whatever factory this space had been, it was an art studio now. The barrage of color that came from all sides overpowered the expanse of gray concrete and the exposed metal foundation beams. Painted canvases taller than Ginny were leaning along every inch of wall space.

The music reverberated in the large space, which masked the click of her heels as she walked across the floor towards the most striking thing in the room.

Dean.

He was at the far side, with his back to her. Having shed his professional dress robes, he was now shirtless and his paint splattered denims hung low on his hips, showing off two dimples that perfectly footnoted a long expanse of his toned back. With his bare hands he ran a swash of vibrant colors over the surface of the canvas as he stretched high overhead. His well-defined arms flexed with every mark.

Ginny didn’t want to interrupt him; the way he moved with such deliberate intensity made his body look every bit as fine as the works of art he produced. The sight was deliciously distracting but after a few minutes, she felt she ought to announce her presence.

“It’s really gorgeous,” she said, nearly shouting over the music. She _could_ have been referring to the painting.

He spun around and smiled brightly before a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.

“Hullo there,” he answered, reaching for a scrap of cloth to wipe his hands. He shook his head and laughed nervously at himself and then simply spelled his hands clean. She mused at his initial instinct; Muggleborns often forgot their magic when they were distracted.

“Sorry,” he said, magically lowering the music volume. “I must have lost track of time.”

He went to a pillar on which his button front shirt hung and he shyly slipped into it, though thankfully, she thought, he left it unbuttoned.

“No worries. I’m sorry I interrupted.” She focused on the project he’d been working on to avoid looking the tempting torso and line of dark hair that peeked over his waistband. “This looks interesting. So many shades of red and orange, I never realized there were so many.”

Dean made an amused hum. “Yeah, I don’t think most people see as many different colors as I do. Glad you noticed that.”

She chanced looking up at him again and his eyes were leveled on _her_ until he apparently realized his gaze had lingered too long and he looked back at the painting with a twitch of a smile in his cheek.

There was some relief in knowing she wasn’t the only one looking.

“I guess you want to see your dad then, eh? He’s over here,” he indicated with a nod and then led the way.

That’s when she noticed he was barefoot and decided there was an intimacy in seeing a man’s feet. He moved gracefully around paint cans and wash buckets and tables with mountains of old take away trash on them. There was also mattress on the floor nearby with a tangle a blankets and clothing strewn about it.

“So you live here?” she asked.

“Yeah, mostly. I use my parents’ address or Seamus’ sometimes, but I got this place for a decent price. Didn’t see any sense in paying for a flat as well.”

“Right. No, this suits you. It’s great.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Ginny enjoyed his quiet pride. No false humility in him but no bravado either. Dean was quiet, unassuming and he didn’t seem to be brewing a storm underneath the surface, which was something she’d grown weary of.

He approached a large frame carefully draped in clean white muslin and he used his wand to levitate the drape, keeping it from getting dirty on the floor.

Her father, faultless to the faintest freckle and finest hair, looked down at her with his wizened eyes and smiled.

“Hello! It’s lovely to see you again!” Portrait Arthur greeted them. His voice was spot on, and he shifted with an easy but slightly anxious manner that captured him perfectly.

“Dean, he’s magnificent!” she praised him, reaching out to touch his arm briefly. “Very impressive.”

“Thanks. He was really was a pleasure to do once we all relaxed a bit. I added in his tie, see? So now your mum won’t fuss at him.”

Ginny giggled. “That was good of you. Thank you for doing this.”

“No, thank you. After this, I may start getting real paying jobs. I get some now, mind you, but I need clients with full vaults every now and then so I can do the work I really want to do.”

“Can I see the rest?” she asked as she started walking along the wall. He covered her dad’s portrait again and followed her.

There were mostly moving paintings of people. Muggles playing football, Quidditch players flying, people dancing, dueling, and crying.

And there were paintings of body _parts_ only. Hands, hair, eyes and, well, _breasts_. Some were only one breast, others had a matched set, or even just nipples, in great detail, of all sizes and colors.

Ginny grinned. “I see where you get your inspiration from.”

Dean laughed. “Seamus says these are the only ones that make me respectable.”

“ _Indeed_. They’re all quite beautiful in their own way, aren’t they?”

“I think so.” He surveyed his own work and though he appeared a bit sheepish, he didn’t seem at all ashamed of it. There was no need, of course. She could see he didn’t draw these things to be lascivious or inappropriate but he simply portrayed the truth in what he saw.

She felt him brush a strand of hair over her shoulder and quickly dropped his hand again.

Looking at the stretch of tawny chest tormenting her through his open shirt, she had to stow away the images of raking her nails over his tight skin and pressing her face against him.

He looked as though he wanted to say something but remained quiet which left her feeling the need to fill the silence but she couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t betray her inappropriate thoughts.

And standing next to a canvas of a giant breast wasn’t helping.

“I … I think you’d be beautiful to paint.”

The muscle in his jaw tensed as he looked around from the canvas, to her and to the canvas again. Dean licked his lips and scratched nervously at his collarbone, which pulled his shirt up and open further. “I was just working on something when you arrived.”

She hoped that was his effort at an invitation to stay and not a hint for her to leave.

“I’d love to watch the artist at work. It’s …” _Sexy? Erotic?_ “Fascinating. If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

With a smile, he led a path back to where they began. Only this time he kicked a paint can and bumped into a table, hissing a curse under his breath.

“Have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.”

“I’ll be fine here.” Shrugging out of her cloak, she sat cross-legged on top of it and kicked off her shoes.

He glanced at her while he took off his shirt and chuckled silently knowing that his action looked a bit like striptease.

“I got tired of buying new shirts all the time,” he said, hanging it on the hook. “I get messy sometimes.”

“Perfectly understandable. You shouldn’t feel inhibited.”

He grinned and then levitated several cans and trays of paint he sunk his hands in and began. “I came home today and just had this _thing_ \- I don’t know what it was but I just had to paint it. I can’t seem to get it quite right.”

While she watched him, Ginny reached for the clip pinning her hair up and released it, shaking her head until her hair fell free around her shoulders. Dean painted giant swaths of color and long lines of shadow and the tension left his body as he moved. He gave her a double take when next he looked at her and then paused. His eyes were wholly focused on her and he reached for a rag to wipe his hands and he dropped to his knees in front of her.

His eyes traveled all around her, from her hair to her curling toes.

“Let me paint you.” The words weren’t phrased like a question, though she knew she could refuse if she wished. When she nodded, entranced by the intensity of his expression, he took her hand and pulled her up and began unbuttoning her blouse with noticeable ease. After pushing it off her shoulders he then opened the side slit of her skirt and it fell to the floor as well.

Leaving her in knickers and a camisole, he put his hands on her waist with his fingers sliding underneath the hem. “It _is_ my specialty,” he said.

She expected see a cocky smirk on his face, like she’d grown accustomed to seeing on her brothers’ faces, but he looked sincere, waiting for her to me meet his proposition with approval.

She raised her hands in the air and Dean showed the tiniest of smiles as he lifted the camisole over her head. He didn’t look directly at her breasts but kept his eyes on hers and took her by the hand and led her to his unfinished work.

“Sit here,” he told her gently and she sank to the drop cloth. “Straiten your legs out in front of you … and bend one knee,” he instructed. “Yeah, and lean back on your hands, good.”

Dean went from taking in her whole appearance as an object, to giving her a glimmer of acknowledgement with his eyes.

She was conscious of her nudity only for a few minutes in spite of the fact that Dean looked directly at her body and _concentrated_ on her breasts as he recreated the image on the canvas. Summoning more colors, what was at first giant smears of dark color formed into shadow and highlighted arcs that she eventually recognized as herself.

The tiniest strokes of color and dabs of his fingertips created textures and dimension that she never would have realized was lacking until he made the marks.

When at last he was done he stood back and held out his hand for her. He seemed oblivious to the wet paint that was nearly up to his elbows and she didn’t care. She took his hand and he acted as though they had just accomplished a mission together as he pulled her close to him. She tried to just stand and appreciate the painting but she was flush against Dean’s hot, naked torso and all those long, hard muscles were pressed stickily against hers.

“Thanks for letting me,” he said, looking down at her. It was then that he seemed to realize that he had covered her arms and back with paint. The introduction of his favorite medium to the body of the nearly naked woman in his arms appeared to inspire him further.

He faced her, mashing her breasts against him and he leaned down to kiss her. His lips were soft and gentle even though his manner was determined. Though Dean was nothing more than an old friend that she’d all but lost touch with; this felt uncomplicated and simple. There had always been attraction between them, left unfulfilled many years ago.

She finally allowed her hands permission to explore the lean lines of his back and swirl her fingertips over the dimples above his arse.

Their mouths welcomed each other. His tongue gently played over hers while his hands increased their urgency, sliding over her back and deliberately cupping her buttocks.

“Do you … Just …Yeah?” A man of many words he wasn’t, but the passion in his eyes and the waves of lust she felt coming off him spoke clearly enough.

“Yes. Just tonight.”

“Yeah. Tonight.”

Whatever distant past they had together made them fell free enough to be honest.

He dropped to his knees in front of her, kissing her stomach and ribs and teased his tongue under the curve of her breast while his hands stroked over her skin. He watched with reverence as his hands marked her body with the paint that remained on him. He traced over the lines of her legs and the curve of her hips leaving trails of color behind.

Sliding her knickers down to her feet, he sat back on his heels and looked up at the sight of her.

“I’ve always wanted to see you like this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re like, the ‘one that got away.’ I couldn’t compete with, well, you know…”

She appreciated that he didn’t mention Harry specifically. “I’m here now.”

“Can I?” He licked his lips again, looking from her sex, up her torso finally meeting her eyes. “Is there anything … Do you have limits?” he looked like he was straining under his self-control.

“Seeing as I’m standing here naked?” she smirked. “No. No limits.” She thought she knew enough about men, but this one, an erratic artist and a brave Gryffindor, she could never guess what he was thinking or what he’d do next, his mind seemed to work on a slightly different plane than the rest of the men she knew and yet he always tried to respectful.

He shifted forward and gripped her body, nosing his way between her legs. She steadied herself by holding his shoulders and he kissed over her public bone and opened his mouth and she felt the warmth of his tongue delve through her sex. He stroked up and down as far he could reach and she pressed into the pleasure of it.

“Fuck, Ginny, you taste good,” he muttered.

Harry had seemed to enjoy it, but never said so blatantly. She hadn’t yet decided if this was embarrassing or erotic when he quickly stood lifted her up with ease. She wrapped her legs around his waist, gripping him with her thighs. He held her arse and around her back while he slowly walked towards his floor bed, kissing her chest.

He set her down and stood back while she sat down, looking up at him. He slowly unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and he pushed them down his thighs. There was nothing what-so-ever was between him those denims and _oh Godric_ his boyhood had long ago left him behind as he exposed a full and sizable cock and soft black curls that she was certain had developed since the time they’d naively pressed against each other. Dropping to his knees between her feet, he squeezed his erection and briefly closed his eyes at the pressure.

“Never too late to change your mind,” he offered gently. He meant it gentlemanly, though it seemed to pain him to say it.

She shook her head.

“Want to, want _you_ ,” she whispered, unable to refrain from begging any longer.

He continued to watch her eyes for continued approval before diving between her legs again.

She gasped and moaned at the long missed feeling of licks and sucks of a man’s mouth on her so intimately. She couldn’t close her eyes against the sight of his determined face as he pleasured her and she looked down his backside to the perfectly rounded arse beyond.

“ _Dean_ ,” she gasped, pulling on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said with agreement, and wiped his mouth as he moved over her. She pulled her knees up, watching him shift his weight while reaching down to stroke himself through her wetness. He rested his forehead in the divot of her shoulder and pushed in.

For all the panting and gasping they’d done, both were suddenly, utterly silent. He filled her in a familiar and yet entirely different way. Dean shuddered, pushing a bit further, finally buried as deep as he could be.

They both finally let out a gasp and began to breathe together, letting the feeling wash over them. Dean let most of his body weight rest on her and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, dragging her lips over the skin of his chests and over to his biceps, arching up into him.

“ _’Sgood_ ,” she breathed, and her words were followed with an accidental giggle.

“Yeah.” She felt him snigger as well, nodding against her neck. He looked up at her, and they shared a relieved smile, both clearly feeling excited and similarly apprehensive. He moved his pelvis a few times, making tiny adjustments in their joining, easing into something of a pattern.

“It’s been a while for me,” he said, raising himself onto his hands to thrust with a more deliberate thrust.

It was an odd and endearing confession for him to make. She wondered if he would have said that to anyone or if he’d confided that because it was _her_ , because of their history? It compelled her to speak up as well.

“You’re only the second man for me,” she told him, feeling stupid for being so candid. But he nodded again, understanding what that meant for her, and exactly who the first and only had been. He leaned down to kiss her cheek and then her lips and they opened their mouths to each other. She felt the long, slippery slide of him retreat from her body before thrusting back again.

Ginny’s core temperature began rise. Every movement they made together increased the burn, knowing she needed more if she was ever cool off again.

“Ngh –Ginny – can’t last like this,” Dean grunted in a constricted voice. “Have to move.”

He stopped his movements and pulled out of her, sitting back on his heels. She sat up and coaxed him to lie down and she sat astride him, carefully taking him inside again. With her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, willing herself to relax as she settled her weight, feeling him go deeper than she’d ever felt _this_ before.

“So beautiful,” Dean said, sounding more at ease than he had a moment earlier. He had one hand tucked under the back of his head and caressed her thigh and hip with his other.

“You don’t have to say that.” Ginny’d had her fill of empty praise, not wanting man like Dean to carry on needlessly; she was already here with him after all.

“But - _oh bloody …_ ,” he trailed off. She began rising and falling on him. What began as an experimental tempo, changed and they rocked together, increasing in ferocity as she leaned forward. He gripped her arse firmly and he planted his feet on the mattress began thrusting upward.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean hissed, stilling her movements. His voice was higher than it had been all evening. They took a moment to catch their breath, while she enjoyed resting her face against his chest. She was going to take advantage of every moment she could to kiss and touch and stroke his gorgeous body. She wanted to remember this, remember him.

“I’m about to lose it like this. Can we change again?”

“Oh, yes, fine,” she murmured against his chest, though concern rose in her because she had already taxed the extent of her sexual repertoire; ‘wizard on top’ and ‘wizard on bottom’.

“Lie on your front.” His voice smoldered in her ear. “Flat out.”

“Yeah?” she asked, trying not to betray her wariness.

But Dean was confident and sexy, which made her curiosity outweigh her apprehension; though she blushed when she lifted herself off of him and lay down as he’d said. Mercifully he didn’t leave her feeling vulnerable for even a moment. He was over her back, covering her with kisses, while his legs settled along the outside of hers.

“It’s good like this, I promise,” he said sincerely, kissing away the tension in her hunched up shoulders as though he knew what she was thinking.

“It’s okay,” she answered. “I trust you.” Even if she was hesitant, she did trust him, completely.

Dean very adeptly slid his cock along her entrance from behind, pressing the head of it against her clit and when he pulled back he slid deep inside of her with ease.

“ _Oh god_ ,” she moaned, thrilled with the excitement of something so new and pleasurable.

With one strong arm wrapped around her chest and gripping her shoulder, he slipped his other hand underneath her. Dean’s brilliant fingers sought the heat between her legs, gently parted flesh and through damp hair and pressed perfectly against her.

Her gasps and moans were encouragement enough and Dean began to move. Carefully and slowly at first, he tried different angles and pausing after each increasingly forceful thrust waiting for a positive response.

“S’ fantastic,” she whispered, lying onto her folded hands, letting herself give in to the pleasure.

This was a whole new kind of intensity. It was wild and naughty and felt so bloody good!

He thrust a handful of times before he gave into his own need, finding a firm and steady rhythm. Dean’s hips and lower belly slapped against her backside, his fingers pressed and rubbed. His heavy breathing and groans into her ear could barely be heard over her own. It felt like something was melting deep inside of her. The wind up of energy built up on the outside of her body, under his fingertips and a powerful orgasm zipped through her. Her wild moans echoed in the building as she came, clutching the blanket in her fists, while the ripples of pleasure continued to pulse, and then grew again.

He bucked harder and his desperate grunting sounds peaked as he climaxed through her second orgasm.

After lying on her for a few seconds, he rolled onto his back next to her, with his arm thrown over his face. Ginny propped her head in her hand. Leaning on her elbow, she reached out to touch his chest as it still rose with his breath.

He was beautiful to look at, all long lines of rounded muscles and dark shadows. She could spend the rest of the night just touching him, _petting_ him. There was something reassuring that there was no pressure about this. She and Dean agreed this was just for the night, just for comfort or fun or to explore the ‘what might have been’ between them. But there wasn’t any love here for them. It wouldn’t be honest to curl up in his arms and pretend like they were lovers, not when they both knew her heart would always truly belong to another and his head wasn’t interested in a relationship.

Ginny tore her eyes from Dean’s hypnotic breathing and sat up. Looking across the room at the pile of scattered clothes, she wondered how long she had before she wore out her welcome and Dean would want his solitude again.

He sat up next to her and leaned his forehead on her shoulder and put one hand over hers.

“There’s no need to rush out. It’s late now, why don’t you stay? I’ll buy you a cuppa in the morning before work.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. We’re friends. I want you to be comfortable here.” He squeezed her hand and pulled a blanket over them.

Dean turned off the music and the lights and settled next her, holding her hand.

“If you are concerned about that painting, I’ll get rid of it, if you want,” Dean offered.

“No, I’m not ashamed of it, you shouldn’t be either.” She sat and looked at him.

“Though, if you ever paint my brother’s Quidditch team here, you may want to hide it.”

~^~

_Thank you for reading!_


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